


I Will Wait for You at the End

by reasonswhy



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 20:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9515624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reasonswhy/pseuds/reasonswhy
Summary: Demelza doesn’t care how good this band is supposed to be—what kind name is Wheal Grace, anyway?—or how much Caroline claims to love them. She would much rather be at home, in bed, sleeping away the previous eight hours of serving up cold drinks and lukewarm small talk. But Caroline begged and begged—don’t you know they won’t be playing such small shows for much longer?—until Demelza agreed. (Caroline also has a thing for the bassist, which Demelza has been informed is not the point of their night out, but she’s pretty sure actually is.)





	1. Save Me from the Prime of My Live

**Author's Note:**

> This literally happened because I thought that Aidan Turner looked a little like the lead singer from Local Natives. There should be two chapters, and the title is from the Local Native’s song “Past Lives.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This literally happened because I thought that Aidan Turner looked a little like the lead singer from Local Natives. There should be two chapters, and the title and chapter title are both from the Local Native’s song “Past Lives.” Enjoy? :)

When the man standing next to her steps on her foot for the second time in ten minutes, Demelza barely keeps herself from jabbing her elbow into his side. The bar is too small and too crowded, and she is entirely too tired tonight to put up with a complete lack of personal space.

She doesn’t care how good this band is supposed to be—what kind of name is Wheal Grace, anyway?—or how much Caroline claims to love them. She would much rather be at home, in her bed, sleeping away the previous eight hours of serving up cold drinks and lukewarm small talk to a busy Saturday crowd. But Caroline begged and begged— _don’t you know they won’t be playing such small shows for much longer?_ —until Demelza agreed to meet her across town after her shift at the bar ended. (Caroline also has a thing for the bassist, which Demelza has been informed is not the point of their night out, but she’s pretty sure actually is.)

Sidestepping a third boot to the toes, she spares a curse for Jinny, who moved out last month and into Jim's place across the city. Even now, a month later, she's still not entirely sure why Caroline Penvenen wanted to take Jinny’s place in a crummy flat. When Demelza had pressed for details, Caroline had dismissed it with a wave and something about family money and expectations and an ex-boyfriend. _It’s all terribly old-fashioned. You should feel lucky your family doesn’t meddle._

Demelza feels plenty of things about her family. Lucky isn’t one of them. 

But for all Caroline’s vagueness on her reasons for answering the “roommate wanted” posting, she’s been very clear on her thoughts on Demelza’s social life. _The only person you see besides your coworkers is me. And Garrick, but I’m not inclined to count him, seeing as he has four legs and won't stop chewing on my shoes._

Until tonight, Demelza had been able to avoid Caroline’s requests to go out by alternating between pleas of exhaustion and piles of homework. She blames the fact that she finally caved on not having slept more than a handful of hours a night for the past two weeks. (Pulling double shifts will do that to a girl, but her tuition bill won't pay itself.) And anyway, this time, Caroline wouldn’t take no for an answer. (Demelza is beginning to realize that Caroline never takes no for an answer.)

Beside her, Caroline claps her hands together as the band starts their set. They’re good—brilliant, really—but all Demelza can think about are her aching feet and heavy limbs and the fact that she has another shift at the bar tomorrow.

In between songs, Caroline—practically yelling in her ear—fills her in on the band’s history. The drummer and the lead singer are cousins. The lead singer and the bass player are old friends. The band broke up but recently got back together. Something about a girl, apparently, who might or might not be here tonight.

And so Demelza notices when they play a song for someone called Elizabeth, the lead singer’s voice heavy with emotion, and she thinks it’s a shame that nothing rhymes with her own name.

When the final note of the final song trails off, Demelza realizes with a start that she hasn’t given a thought to how late it is in ages. She’s been lost in the show, and judging by Caroline’s broad grin, she hasn’t been subtle about it. Maybe she can just tell Caroline she’s learned to sleep standing up and with her eyes open.

As the lead singer thanks the crowd, he catches her eye and winks. His curls are wild and his smile feels contagious. There’s something so alive about him on stage, something in his eyes, or the way the words feel exactly right when they leave his mouth.

Caroline leans into her side, bright red lips curved into a knowing smile. “Told you they were good.”

“You told me they were cute,” Demelza fires back.

Caroline laughs, and it sounds like bells. “They’re both. Come on.” She tugs at Demelza’s arm and pulls her toward the bar. “I want a drink.”

\--

An hour later, and they’re still there. Demelza is dead on her feet, and there’s no more forgetting it now that the music has ended. She managed to stay dutifully by Caroline’s side at the bar for a while, but now that Caroline has cornered her bassist, Demelza feels free to sink into a soft leather booth. It's a while after midnight, but the crowd hasn't thinned out, and Demelza's glad to find a spot where she isn't within arm's reach of a stranger.

Barely fighting off a yawn, she sips her lukewarm beer in the hope that the action will keep her awake. Demelza’s eyes flick to Caroline, and then over to the Wheal Grace drummer, who’s talking to a beautiful girl whose hair has not revolted into a corona of messy red curls. She wonders absently whether that's Elizabeth, wonders whether you're allowed to sing along to a song written about you.

With a sigh, Demelza shoves the rebel strands back from her face and decides that she’s had enough. If she doesn't leave now, she's going to stretch out in the booth and fall asleep. Caroline can take her own cab back to their place—or she can go wherever she wants with the bassist. Demelza is her flatmate, not her keeper. 

But before she can slide out of the booth, someone else slides in next to her. Demelza looks up sharply. It’s the lead singer. Caroline had rattled off the names of each band member, so she knows this is Ross something or other, watching her with a grin, his hand curled around the neck of his own beer. 

“I usually find that people are a bit happier after our shows.”

Demelza presses her lips together to keep from smiling. He’s even better looking close up. “Perhaps I’m not a fan of your music.”

He cuts his eyes to where Caroline is simpering at the bassist, who seems unimpressed. “Your friend certainly is.”

“Caroline and I,” she says instead, “are very different.”

Ross shifts slightly, and the movement brings him closer to her. Instinctively, she presses back against the booth. Her cheeks flame, and she’s grateful it’s dark enough to hide the sudden burst of color. (Or she hopes it’s dark enough, at least.)

“I’m Ross,” he says. “Ross Poldark.” 

“Demelza.”

“Pretty name. Let me get you a drink."

She raises her half-empty, all-warm beer. “I have a drink.”

“So you do.” He grins. “A dance, then. I could give you that.”

She wonders how often he does this after a show, if he picks out a girl in the crowd and reels her in with his dark eyes and wicked smile. She wonders how he got the scar that traces its way down his cheek. And the thing is, more than anything, she wants to say yes. She wants to stop worrying about work and school and bills and the fact that even though she no longer lives under her father's roof, he still looms in her life. She glances away from Ross for a moment, only to find Caroline watching her from across the bar. She smiles and nods, offering silent encouragement, and Demelza ducks her head to avoid it. _Come on, Demelza,_ she can almost hear Caroline saying. _What could it hurt?_

She supposes that, once upon a time, someone asked her mother the same thing. She supposes that someone told her that Tom Carne was a good man. She supposes that her mother believed them.

“Demelza?” Ross’s voice is softer now, like he’s somehow able to read her mind, to know that she’s disappeared somewhere else.

“Sorry—I’ve had a long day.” She dredges up a smile that she hopes looks sincere. “I’m going to head home, but thanks for the offer.”

Ross nods, and then slides out of the booth to let her up. They walk together to where Caroline and Dwight are still talking, and Demelza watches as Ross's eyes track every movement his cousin makes across the room. Or, she realizes, not his cousin—the girl. She thinks that the fight Caroline told her about might be over, but that the feelings that caused it still linger.

Before Caroline can launch into a spiel to convince her to stay, Demelza says she’s going to take a cab, that she’ll see Caroline later. The bassist—Dwight—asks if she'll be all right on her own. As soon as she assures them she will be and before anyone can say anything else, Demelza turns on her heel. 

One day, maybe, she thinks. One day she will be the sort of girl who can flirt with a handsome boy in a bar without worrying so much about what comes next. 

But one day isn’t tonight, and there’s no use pretending it is.

And as she pushes the door open and walks outside, she tells herself that's perfectly fine.


	2. It's All About to Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A (very) belated conclusion! Title from the Local Natives song “Who Knows Who Cares.”

Almost a month after the Wheal Grace show and Demelza’s not any more well-rested, but she _is_ fairly sure she’s a step or two closer to learning how to sleep standing up. Whether or not that’s something to be proud of, she hasn’t yet decided. Regardless, she could do her job with her eyes closed. It’s what she’s good at. She’s been fetching drinks for drunk men—or a drunk man, really—for years; at least now she got paid for it. 

With a sigh, she drags a hand over her face and avoids looking at the clock behind her. Even without glancing at the hands, she knows there’s still almost two hours to muddle through until freedom. Or relative freedom. She has nearly a hundred pages of reading to fight through when she gets homes, and she’s fairly sure that Caroline will have invited Dwight over, which means Demelza will have to spend an appropriate amount of time socializing before she’s permitted to retreat into her room. (She learned the hard way that immediately closing herself off—even when it’s for a legitimate reason, like, say her classes, or a desperate desire for sleep—isn’t an option with Caroline Penvenen.)

It’s not as though she doesn’t like Dwight; he’s been nothing but polite whenever they’ve hung out. But Demelza is never quite in the mood for small talk these days. She’s fine talking to people at the bar when it’s the same easy conversations over and over again, but she always feels out of her depth in other social situations. Like she’s eight years old all over again and the other kids at school are repeating words their parents whispered to each other when they thought their children were in bed. _Saw Tom Carne again, pissed out of his mind_ and _That poor family_ and _The mother’s trash too._

Even with Caroline, she sometimes feels helplessly out of her league. Demelza feels closer to her than she would have guessed was possible, back when they first moved in together, but she’s still occasionally aware that they’re from two different worlds.

Demelza admires Caroline for standing up to her family, but she’s still remarkably sheltered about some of the nasty things life has to offer. Caroline is living in their run-down flat because she’s determined to be independent from her family, who, while overbearing and meddling, do care about her; Demelza is living there because she has no other choice. (Unless you count living under the same roof as her father, which she does not.)

Someone raps on the bar, drawing her attention back to the moment. It’s been a thankfully slow evening so far, and she spins to help the impatient patron who couldn’t wait a few more seconds for her to finish wiping down the back counter. At least she can stop thinking of her father. That’s something, however small.

“Can I help—” She hates that her words come to a screeching halt, but there’s no other way to account for the fact that Ross Poldark is standing in her bar, looking for all the world like he belongs there. She steadies and steels herself, and then arches an eyebrow. She can’t stand the thought of him realizing how nervous makes her. “Hello again. Are you following me, or is this a happy accident?”

“Is there an answer I give that means you’re more likely to talk to me?” His eyes are sparkling, so she waits him out. He flashes a quick smile before caving, his hands held up in apology. “I asked Caroline where I might find you. She and Dwight stopped by my place for a drink.” 

Demelza would have to talk to Caroline about boundaries. Again. For all the good she knows it will do her. “Nice of her.”

Another grin for her efforts. “I thought so.”

“Do you do this often, then?” She grabs the rag she was using earlier and goes back to wiping down the bar. She sends up a quick prayer that Ross doesn’t notice that the surface is already alarmingly clean for what a shithole this place is. But Demelza needs something to do with her hands, to keep busy and keep her eyes off Ross. She has always hated being still, being stuck, being _trapped_.

Ross folds himself into the barstool nearest her, still looking perfectly at ease. He strikes her as the sort of person who fits into wherever he is. That, whatever he does or whoever he’s with, he commits fully, for better or worse. That he finds a way to belong. She wonders what that feels like. “Do what?” he asks.

“Track down people who attend your shows,” she says, even though she knows that he knows perfectly well what she meant in the first place.

“This is a first, believe it or not.” He sounds sincere, although it’s not the answer she’s expecting. She thinks of the song from the concert, the one about the girl named Elizabeth. Maybe it’s more that he’s not used to chasing after girls—she supposes they usually come to him.

She wonders again who Elizabeth is. She’s caught herself humming the melody over the past weeks, and each time, she thinks of the emotion on Ross’ face while he sang, and each time, she forces herself to stop that train of thought as soon as it starts. Because nothing has changed in the month since the show, not in any meaningful way, at least. She's still the same girl she has always been, one who doesn’t have the luxury of flirting with a handsome boy in a bar without worrying about what comes next.

“You don’t seem impressed,” Ross says.

"Should I be?"

"I expected you would be, at least a bit. Caroline is very protective of you." He’s grinning at her, that infectious smile of his forcing her own lips to turn up.

She hasn’t changed, no, but Ross makes her want to. He makes her want to be a person who chases after what she wants. She thinks of the rest of her night, of going home and falling asleep to the chimes of Caroline’s laughter drifting through the walls. She thinks of how lonely she feels sometimes, even surrounded by people at the bar, and how that feeling seems a little bit lighter with Ross standing in front of her.

“Oh, all right,” she says, tossing down the rag.

“All right what?”

“I’ll get a drink with you.”

“I don’t remember asking you to have a drink with me.” He’s resting on his forearms on the bar, leaning toward her as if he can’t help but be pulled in. When Demelza arches an eyebrow, he rocks back, arms held up in surrender. “When are you done?”

She glances at the clock, although she already knows exactly how many minutes she’ll have to force herself to get to. “At ten.”

He pushes himself off the barstool and onto his feet. “Then I’ll be back at ten.”

She’s not sure what will come next—and there’s no way to keep from worrying about that—but the smile Ross gives her makes her feel sure of herself in a way she hasn’t in a long time.

And that, Demelza thinks, well, that’s a very good start.


End file.
